


You woke up the world inside of me

by Warmybones



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Grinding, Iwa-chan writes poetry and Oikawa has it bad, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:39:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7531321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warmybones/pseuds/Warmybones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hajime's soul is gold and, as it pours, Tooru melts around the edges.</p>
<p>Softly, tenderly, just as the way their breaths mix together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You woke up the world inside of me

**Author's Note:**

> Have you ever had that moment when you read a passage, a sentence or a poem and you can feel you soul blossoming? Well, this is a little about that and about two idiots who are very afraid and in love.

Iwaizumi had never been one for words. He used to splutter, to blush when he was a child and whenever a topic concerning his feelings came up. He did it still, but barely, now that he had learned how well a good frown can keep noisy people away (with the exception of Oikawa). Iwaizumi had always been reserved and although he told Oikawa everything, Oikawa knew that there were things that he liked to keep to himself, childhood friends or not.

Iwaizumi had never been one for words, or so Oikawa had thought until the day Iwaizumi dropped one of his notebooks as he chased Matsukawa and Hanamaki out of the changing room. They had been teasing him, as always, and Iwaizumi had finally boiled over, reaching his limit and chasing them with a deep frown and with the screams of their teammates growing louder and louder as Iwaizumi drew near.

Oikawa sighed in the stillness of the room as he paid attention to the ruckus outside. He was alone, the others having decided to go home sooner, and he, for once, was grateful for it, for he could let his shoulders fall and his sore muscles relax even for a moment. He got out of his sweaty shirt as he waited for Iwaizumi to come back, cringing at his sweaty hair. And that’s when he noticed the dropped notebook laying on the floor, open for him with its beige pages catching Oikawa’s attention.

It was one of Iwaizumi’s favourites, black with little details in gold; the one he always took everywhere with him. It was practically a constant in their lives, always being in Iwaizumi’s bag or waiting for him on the desk of his room. Other than that, Oikawa had never heard Iwaizumi talk about it or had seen its contents.

_Iwa-chan is reserved,_ he reminded himself as he knelt near the notebook to pick it up. Up to this day, he still swore that his intentions were closing it, leaving it in Iwaizumi’s bag and keep on changing, leaving it at that. But the truth was that the messy letters and the pages fired up his curiosity and he could not look away, not after his breath got stolen away when he saw the contents.

There was only poetry written there: finished poetry, poetry in progress, arrows that lead from one word to a bunch of others (ones that rhymed with each other, Oikawa noticed). There were little drawings of things in the middle of the poems, made when Iwaizumi couldn’t remember the words he needed to write. There were also quotes from different authors glued to the pages of the notebook, some short and some longer.

Oikawa found himself enraptured, kneeling on the floor half naked, sweaty and going through page after page, rational thoughts thrown out of the window and breath failing him. It was like watching Iwaizumi’s raw emotions, going from one page absolutely organized and prettily done, to another page full of smudged letters, rushed words and crosses. He was admiring the notebook in awe, with his hear beating insistently against his ribcage as if in telling him this is Iwa-chan, this is all Iwa-chan, when something suddenly caught his attention. A poem, so clean and pretty, that it was only normal for him to fall into rhythm with it.

_[I promise myself](http://goo.gl/GiWMh1) _

_tonight will be different,_

_i’ll go to sleep early_

_and dream only of_

_Soft waves;_

_at three a.m._

_i am drowning_

_and still_

_horribly awake._

 

Time stopped and Tooru’s heart beat, beat, beat and suddenly there were tears rolling down his flushed cheeks and falling to the floor. He felt a rush of something he couldn’t describe running through his body, filling his veins, touching tender places that he wanted to hide too badly, making his hair stand on end and leaving him breathless. He read the words, again and again, feeling tickles beneath his skin and a pull inside his chest.

He felt the beat of the poem’s rhythm in his body and mind, and he thought about all those nights, all those terrible nights when insomnia hit him and his own thoughts ate him alive, leaving him struggling to breathe. He felt like someone had touched his soul so lovingly that the only choice for him was falling in love.

The door of the changing room opened then, and when it closed and Iwaizumi came inside, frowning deeply with his hands inside of his pockets, a sudden guilt dropped in Oikawa's chest, mixing with the rush of his blood and making him stare at his best friend, with his cheeks still wet and his eyes wide. He felt like a little kid caught doing something wrong, and the feeling only became stronger when Iwaizumi stopped in his tracks when he saw Oikawa's tears. He opened his mouth, with that worried look that Oikawa loved so, so much, but froze the moment his eyes laid on the notebook Oikawa was clutching in his hands. 

"Oikawa, what the hell!" he screamed, flushing all over and taking his hands out of his pockets.  

The sound his feet made as he reached Oikawa resembled drums and, for a moment, he was sure Iwaizumi was going to headbutt him so hard he wouldn't be able to get home that night. So he found himself with his eyes closed, Iwaizumi looming over him and a silence capable of chocking them filling the room.

"That's private," Iwaizumi said, softly this time, but there was still an embarrassed tone clinging to his voice, barely noticeable, but Oikawa had known him all of his life and knew the tilt of Iwaizumi's voice like the palm of his own hand.

He opened his eyes, maybe tricked by a false softness, but he found Iwaizumi holding his hand outward, red-faced and with his lips in a tight line. His hand was shaking slightly and Oikawa took it mindlessly, instead of handing the notebook, and pulled Iwaizumi down to sit beside him. He went with a yelp and was opening his mouth again to talk when he found the notebook being put carefully in his lap.

"I'm sorry for reading it," Oikawa murmured, eyes on Iwaizumi's clavicle and heart catching in his throat. "It fell down from the bench and it opened."

It was silent for a second, but then Iwaizumi took the notebook in his hands and asked, "Is that why you read it?"

"I-- it caught my attention," Oikawa blushed with shame and took his eyes off Iwaizumi, tightening his hands into fists.

"How much of it have you read?"

He didn't know, everything was a blur of letters, except for the last poem, which continued to pound inside of his mind, reminding him that it was not leaving nor disappearing.

"Not everything. A few pages. I--I only remember one poem," he said, wiping the tears away with his arm and staring at the floor. "I didn't know you could write."

Iwaizumi sighed almost silently, as if calming himself, and Oikawa saw him fumble with the notebook, getting it closer to his chest, only to lower it back to his lap.

"Why are you crying?" Iwaizumi said and it was so soft that when Oikawa eyes snapped upwards to collide with Iwaizumi's, he trembled, seeing his best friend curl in himself and look away from him, the action so unlike Iwaizumi and yet so much like when they were kids.

“I don’t know,” he chuckled a little, focusing more on Iwaizumi. His eyes were so green today that he felt like his heart was going to come out of his mouth. “You just write so beautifully.”

Oikawa saw the reaction at slow motion; Iwaizumi’s eyes getting wider, his skin getting warmer and redder, from his cheeks to his neck and shoulders, and Oikawa felt so tenderly in love that he wanted to cry again.

“Idiot,” Iwaizumi said, and then he looked at Oikawa and added, “You shouldn’t have read it.”

Oikawa felt guilty, because Iwaizumi's soul had been poured in there and, even though he loved it, all the softness and all the edges, the perfectly written poetry and the messy one, he knew that it was Iwaizumi's secret to tell.

“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan. I shouldn’t have.”

Iwaizumi picked up on Tooru's tone, on his expression and his frame relaxed, uncurling and setting his shoulders as strongly as he always had.

"It's... Well, it's not okay, but let's forget about it," he said, settling on the floor more comfortably, stretching his legs. "I thought you were going to make fun of me."

Oikawa's eyes widened and Iwaizumi looked at his lap, following the details in gold with his eyes instead of watching the face of his best friend crumble in hurt.

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa whispered, barely a sound. "Why did you think I was going to make fun of you?"

He was hurt, but he knew what insecurities could do to a person; he knew it better than anyone and knew that Iwaizumi had always fought teeth and nails just so Tooru could open up and be honest about his feelings. He still didn't, sometimes, so he willed the sting inside of his chest away.

Iwaizumi shrugged and Oikawa narrowed his eyes and took in the way he seemed to want to curl in himself again, the way his eyes darted around the room, avoiding chocolate eyes.

"Someone made fun of it?"

The deepening of Iwaizumi's frown and the tightening of his hands into fists gave Oikawa all the information he needed to have. Iwaizumi looked so tiny, for a moment, with his eyes unfocused and lost and with his hair in a disarray from the fight with Hanamaki and Matsukawa. He looked so tiny and Oikawa wanted to hold Iwaizumi, pull him closer until they fitted perfectly against the other, until he couldn't feel anything but the hard planes of his body. He wanted, but he had wanted for a long time and would continue to be that way.

"Who was it?" Oikawa asked and, for being the star of the team and the lover boy of the school, he sure could have a murderous aura.

"No one. Forget it," he knew his attempts at getting away from the conversation were useless, but he still tried not to crave in when Oikawa came closer. He failed miserably as he focused only on him.

The sun was entering through the window, bathing everything in gold. He could see the dust dancing around in the air, see the way Oikawa's muscles flexed when he reached out to Iwaizumi, saw the curve of his neck, the curl of his mouth and the brightness of his eyes and Iwaizumi wanted to bury himself in them, in the distinctive smell that was Oikawa. His hand ached for his fountain pen, he ached to write, to describe the beauty before him, the way his body relaxed and tensed, the way he would like to kiss his best friend senseless and make him see golden stars. He ached, but he had been aching for years now, so he willed the buzzing beneath his skin away. 

"A pair of girls," he murmured when Oikawa's hand grazed his leg. 

He felt pathetic, now and then, back when those girls peeked inside his notebook and laughed at him because they thought writing poetry was too girly for him.

_Are you going to write about falling in love, Iwaizumi-kun_ , they had laughed and Iwaizumi had wanted to tear his own notebook apart, to tear all the verses he had written and hide in shame because, yes, he had written about falling in love, about hurting, and about a pair of bright chocolate eyes and a disarray of brown locks that continued to make his life a living hell just by breathing and being the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

It had hurt him and he should have known better than to listen to mindless people who didn't know a thing about him and just talked for the sake of it, but it had hurt, oh, how it had hurt to pour himself, his soul, all raw in some verses and then be laughed at about it.

He knew Oikawa, had known him all of his life and would probably know him blind, just by the way he smelled or breathed --too many nights spent in the darkness with Oikawa gasping for shallow breaths and Iwaizumi worrying himself sick--. Iwaizumi knew him, and he knew that Oikawa would never make fun of something Iwaizumi considered important, no matter how much he pretended or how much of a persona he created it. Iwaizumi knew it, but insecurity was something ugly and dark that had made its way into his veins and refused to leave.

Until now that he felt himself warming up with the look Oikawa was giving him.

"It's okay, doesn't matter anymore."

It didn't, not now that he had Oikawa in front of him, touching him with trails of tears on his cheeks and so, so caring that he felt he could melt. He felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from his chest so when he whispered a single 'please' and Oikawa dropped the topic he felt like he could breathe again.

"We should go home," Iwaizumi said, getting up from the floor and going to put the notebook inside of his bag.

He turned around when he received no answer, only to find Oikawa staring at him with an intensity that he reserved for volleyball matches.

"Iwa-chan," he said, getting up and coming to stand in front of him.

The strong chest, the ripped torso and the set of the shoulders made Iwaizumi lose his breath for a moment. He tried to control his breathing by focusing on Oikawa's face, but the way his hair shone, still wet from the sweat, and the way he was looking at him made Iwaizumi even weaker.

"I-I..." he stuttered and Iwaizumi felt a wave of affection so strong that it made his knees tremble. "I would like to read what you write, if you let me."

Iwaizumi thought about all the poetry he had spilled because of Oikawa. Thought about saying no, but he remembered how Oikawa was crying and clutching his notebook, and thought that he didn't have the strength to deny something like that.

"Okay."

And that's how their downfall began.

 

**◊ ◊ ◊**

 

Even if Iwaizumi had agreed to let Oikawa read what he wrote it was a slow process. He didn't let Oikawa touch his notebook or read anything within it, but he started to take it out during breaks where it was just Oikawa and him. At first the notebook was just there, laying on his lap, his hand picking at its borders as if he was unsure to open it or not. Oikawa never said anything, just watched him out of the corner of his eye as he drank his juice and rumbled as he always did. He pretended to not see Iwaizumi's quirks and reactions, but he watched his strong hands feel the contours of the notebook delicately, almost as if enraptured by the movement.

After a few days, Iwaizumi started opening his notebook and writing something here and there, little and rushed things that left Oikawa wishing that Iwaizumi could relax around him, that he would realize there was no rush, that there would never be a rush if he had Oikawa by his side. After that, Iwaizumi started asking him for words he couldn't remember, instead of drawing them as Oikawa had seen in his notebook, ("How do you call the wind when it's soft?" "...Breeze?" "That.") and about things he knew Tooru would know ("How does a star die?" "Well, Iwa-chan, I could say that almost all of the time aliens are involved, but science says---").

Until finally, one day Iwaizumi, after breathing in, handed Tooru his notebook open and whispered a quiet, "What do you think?"

There was only one poem there, alone in the middle of a blank page. It was short, but the rhythm caught his mind and his heart stopped.

 

_[People are not rain](http://goo.gl/ixZlXh) _

_or autumn leaves_

_or snow._

_They do not_

_look beautiful_

_when they fall._

"Iwa-chan," he sighed, tearing his eyes off the page with difficulty and watching as Iwaizumi picked at his food. "It's gorgeous."

And when Iwaizumi turned to stare at him, with something akin to hope in his eyes, Oikawa wished he could tell Iwaizumi how badly he wanted to kiss him, breaths mixing and murmuring all the awe that he had for him.

 "You think?" he said, looking so vulnerable and so unsure that Tooru's heart clenched painfully.

"I do, it's--" he didn't know what it was, the rhythm, the words, the structure, but knowing that Iwaizumi could create something like this just with a pen and a paper made him feel lighter. "I think it's very beautiful."

Oikawa heated up under Iwaizumi's eyes, greyer and brighter today than usual. Iwaizumi's eyes changed colours depending on so many things, so many factors that Oikawa could be looking at his eyes one minute and the next his eyes would be completely different. It was driving Oikawa crazy, had always driven him crazy, really.

"Thank you," Iwaizumi said, taking his notebook back, and Oikawa noticed the embarrassment trying to seep into his voice.

Tooru couldn't help but tremble when he saw his best friend smiling softly.

 

 

**◊ ◊ ◊**

 

 

A week passed, a week full of short verses and long poems that made the connection between Iwaizumi and Oikawa even stronger. Iwaizumi gave Oikawa his poetry, a little piece of him, and, in turn, Oikawa accepted it as it was, a treasure and a gift. It was a shift in their relationship that had been awkward at the beginning, but that by now it felt completely natural, as if Iwaizumi had been asking him if he had heard about some poet since they were children, or if he would like to take a look at one of his poems because there was something wrong with it and he couldn't figure out what. 

So, with this change in their lives, the week ended in Iwaizumi's house, with Oikawa sprawled out on Iwaizumi's bed with his phone and Iwaizumi at his desk, writing with his favourite fountain pen. Iwaizumi had already finished his homework, but Oikawa still had an essay to do and, dreading every second of it, he had decided to procrastinate instead of getting it done. And there he was, watching Iwaizumi from the corner of his eyes as he tapped a reply to Hanamaki on his phone. He almost jumped out of his skin when Iwaizumi sighed deeply, disturbing the silence of the room.

Iwaizumi sighed again, putting his head on his hands over the desk. It was silent and Oikawa was watching the hard lines of his back and shoulders when Iwaizumi asked, "Does it make sense to miss something you don't have?"

Oikawa thought of Iwaizumi's green eyes, of the curve of his lips, of the times he had stayed up with him just so he could convince his mulish mind that Oikawa was more than enough, thought of the times Iwaizumi had clutched his arm and Oikawa had wanted much more, so much more. He thought of the softness and the strength of his best friend and almost choked on it.

"Yes," he said, going back to his phone, gripping it tightly to stop himself from trembling.

"I know it makes sense," Iwaizumi said, leaning back in his chair and turning to look at Oikawa. "I know it."

He sounded small and defeated and if Oikawa would have been able to see his own face every time he thought how his love for his best friend was only going to lead to a dead end, he would have recognized the expression on Iwaizumi's face.

"I just... can't find the right words to say."

They looked at each other tentatively, almost shyly, the tension in the air growing with every passing second. Oikawa felt a pull in his chest at the way Iwaizumi's eyes burned into his very core and trembled, thinking for a moment that it didn't look like they were talking about poetry anymore.

"Make a draft? You can always correct it and find the right words," Oikawa said, searching for Iwaizumi's eyes, but they were trained on the window, watching the world outside so intently that Oikawa knew he didn't want to look at him.

Iwaizumi bit his lip and furrowed his brow a little, looking troubled and indecisive at the same time, and it was doing things to Oikawa. His white teeth were peeking out and Oikawa could see the one that was slightly crooked, the one that made him blush even thought it was just a goddamn _tooth_.

Oikawa thought, not for the first time, that he would give anything to kiss Iwaizumi in between verses, with the same softness with which he wrote.

"I can't," he said, so low that it almost escaped Oikawa.

"What?"

"I can't correct it if it goes wrong."

It wasn't about poetry anymore, Oikawa knew it in his gut and in the way his stomach warmed over with the implications. He didn't want to give himself hopes, but god, was it difficult to not do so when Iwaizumi looked like something too beautiful to touch, like a god that was spilling out of his mouth just what Oikawa needed to hear. And maybe the gold in his words had poison behind them, but Oikawa was tired and in love, and he wanted to believe so much.

"Iwa-chan..."

Iwaizumi opened his mouth to say something else, making Oikawa weak with the sudden openness of his face, but he was cut off when his mother's voice travelled upstairs to call them down for dinner. They were silent for a moment and when Iwaizumi looked at him again, he could feel the shifts in their relationship stopping, and suddenly they were back to normal, as if nothing had happened.

"You staying?" Iwaizumi asked as he stood up.

"If you want me too, Iwa-chan," he smiled as Iwaizumi took his arms to help him stand up from the bed.

"What kind of response is that, idiot?"

"Booo, auntie your son doesn't appreciate me!" Oikawa exclaimed, freeing himself from Iwaizumi's grip, going out of the room and taking the stairs two out a time just so he could get to the kitchen first.

"Oi!" Iwaizumi screamed, going after him, as he always did.

 

 

**◊ ◊ ◊**

 

 

Some time passed and Oikawa bought Iwaizumi a poetry book. He had been walking through the streets, watching the storefronts with hollow eyes as he made his way home when he passed an alley and something caught his attention. There was a little shop there, lightened up prettily and lonely, and Oikawa had been drawn to it, like kids were by pretty things. He had stopped in front of it and his curiosity had only grown bigger when he saw that it was a shop dedicated to poetry. Books, audios, anything you needed to find, you had it.

 Oikawa had been taking a stroll inside of the shop, Iwaizumi in his mind the whole time, when he suddenly saw a small book; red with its letters written in gold. It was a compilation of several authors, and Oikawa recognized some of them after seeing their quotes written everywhere by Iwaizumi, in his notebook, in his room and sometimes even in Oikawa's notebooks, when Iwaizumi confused them with his (disadvantages of buying the same scholar material since they were kids). He remembered one of Iwaizumi's favourites: _Write hard and clear about what hurts_ , and he practically beamed when he saw that not only it had more quotes from the author, but from a bunch that Iwaizumi liked as well.

So he bought it, something mindless, a little act with which he wanted to make Iwaizumi a little happy. But when he went to Iwaizumi's house and handed him the package, the last thing he would have thought was that Iwaizumi would cry. He had the book cradled in his arms, like it was a precious treasure, and tears were rolling down his cheeks.

Only when Iwaizumi put the book on the kitchen counter and came almost barrelling towards him, to envelop him in his arms, Oikawa could react. He hugged him back, and Iwaizumi clutched him tightly, so tightly that all the breath from Oikawa's lungs escaped him in a gasp.

"Thank you, Tooru," he murmured against his neck.

Oikawa couldn't breathe in that moment, with his arms wind up around Iwaizumi's body, with the way his own name rolled out of Iwaizumi's mouth still ringing in his ears, with the smothering realization that they fitted so perfectly against the other, with the way Iwaizumi's body shifted underneath his. Iwaizumi was warm, and with his shoulder soaked from Iwaizumi's tears, he realized once again just how much in love he was with him. He wanted to tell him so badly, to spill the truth between them, that his breath got caught in his throat as held Iwaizumi tighter.

"You're welcome," he said weakly, feeling suddenly defeated.

He felt the tears burn in his eyes, so he hid his face in Iwaizumi's neck, breathed in his smell and trembled.

 

 

**◊ ◊ ◊**

 

 

"You know what I hate," said Iwaizumi one afternoon.

It was a weekend and they were sprawled out on Iwaizumi's sofa, watching silly movies, Iwaizumi sometimes writing and Oikawa tweeting on his phone. Oikawa tore his eyes away from the TV in front of him to watch as Iwaizumi closed his notebook and let it fall on his lap gracelessly. He squirmed trying to get more comfortable and Oikawa had to get the silly smile that had been threating to appear on his face at how close they were in control. Their knees were drawn up together, and he could feel the edges of Iwaizumi’s feet under the curve of his legs.

“Obviously not my pretty face,” Oikawa said, just because he could get a rise out of Iwaizumi.

“Obviously that too,” he said and at Oikawa’s indignant yelp he smiled.

“This stupid thing,” Iwaizumi sighed, holding it in his hands and throwing it to the table before them. “And trying to find a rhythm.”

“Don’t throw it around, you always feel guilty afterwards,” Oikawa murmured as Iwaizumi got comfortable on the coach and looked at him with an eyebrow arched. “Maybe read it out loud?”

“Read it out loud,” Iwaizumi repeated, playing with his sleeve for a moment before his eyes widened and he reached for the notebook in a rush.

The next thing Oikawa knew was that he had his lap full of Iwaizumi and that he was pressing his notebook against Oikawa’s chest.

“Read it out loud,” he demanded with burning eyes and a shiver ran down Tooru’s spine, almost making him arch up into the warmth that were Iwaizumi’s thighs on both sides of his body.

“Why?” he asked, dry and almost brokenly.

“Your voice is melodic,” Iwaizumi murmured and he was warm, so warm that Oikawa just wanted to bury himself in the curve of his neck. “It will help with the rhythm.”

Oikawa wanted to call bullshit, to squirm away from Iwaizumi’s touch just so he could catch his breath, but the only thing he did was chuckle and melt against the sofa.

“Awww, Iwa-chan thinks like that?” he asked teasingly, praying to a god that most certainly hated him to not let him fuck everything up.

He recognized the tight line of Iwaizumi’s lips and tried to smile, saying “joking” softly before clearing his throat and reaching out for the notebook. He became distracted, however, by the new angle of Iwaizumi’s jaw that the position allowed him to see. He stared, watching the skin and the hard lines with a reverence he should have reserved for when his best friend wasn’t looking at him so intently.

“Oikawa?”

He cleared his throat and blushed, looking at the notebook like it could save his life.

“Which one?”

Iwaizumi guided him to the poem, so he read with him still on his lap, the pressure so grounding and good that made Oikawa want too much. He watched Iwaizumi, watched his closed eyes and his head tilted to the right, watched the sudden delicacy of his expression as one of his hands came up to press and curl on Oikawa’s shoulder. He suppressed a shiver and sighed then, fucking up the rhythm, but Iwaizumi didn’t mind, just opened his eyes and looked at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Again,” he whispered, closing his eyes again, and Oikawa curled his toes and obeyed.

Oikawa stopped reciting when the words on the paper ran out, realizing that he hadn’t been able to take in a single thing that had been written on the paper. He set the notebook aside, thinking that Iwaizumi was finally going to hop off his lap, but he found him clutching Oikawa’s shoulder and frowning deeply.

“Did I— “Oikawa tried to ask, because maybe he had done it wrong, because maybe he had been the one to put that troubled look on Iwaizumi’s face.

“You didn’t,” Iwaizumi said, already knowing, as if he could read Oikawa’s mind without even trying. “You were perfect.”

The praise found itself seeping through Oikawa’s bones, making his knees weak and his cheeks blush.

“Do you like writing about love?” Oikawa asked, reverting the attention from himself because he felt that he would explode if things continued this way.

He had at least gathered that about the poem, but he now wished he had paid more attention to it. Did Iwaizumi like to write about love?

Write hard and clear about what hurts, one of Iwaizumi’s favourite quotes read, and Oikawa felt his chest contract.

 “Is it bad to write about it?” Iwaizumi asked, voice strangely coiled.

“Of course it isn’t,” he said, looking up at Iwaizumi, looking for something in his expression. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

He asked it out of the blue, his mouth running way faster than his brain did. Iwaizumi stared at him, blinking and then frowning.

 “I don’t. I would have told you,” he said, and the statement made Oikawa happier than he should have been.

“Maybe you should get one,” he stared at the way Iwaizumi’s eyes changed colours when the light of the sunset started to filter through the blinds of the living room.

They varied from grey to green, but this time when the light managed to caress Iwaizumi’s face, one looked greyer than the other and Oikawa felt unable to look away from them. Iwaizumi suddenly leaned down, levelling himself up on the couch, with his hands on both sides of Oikawa’s head, caging him. Iwaizumi stared at Oikawa with an intensity that made him bite his lip and breath hard through his nose.

Iwaizumi immediately followed the movement, breathing harder when he managed to say, “I could get one.”

“You could?” Oikawa asked, feeling dizzy at how close they were, and opening his mouth to get a little gasp out when Iwaizumi brought their foreheads together.

“I could,” the words were muttered, merely a sound, as their noses touched.

Iwaizumi crawled up more into Oikawa’s lap and tried to level himself with Oikawa’s shoulder, leaning into him even more. Oikawa watched his childhood friend close his eyes and desperately breathe in and a rush filled his veins so loudly that he could hear his own heartbeat.

“Then get one,” Oikawa said mindlessly and out of breath, with eyes half closed and with Iwaizumi’s mouth merely a sigh away.

It was like a dance between them, like pushing and pulling, chasing each other’s lips and getting scared when their skin touched. Oikawa didn’t know what has happening anymore, he only knew that he needed to curl his hands in Iwaizumi’s hips, let him put all of his delicious weight on him and kiss him deeply until the only thing Iwaizumi could do was move against Oikawa and curl his hand on Oikawa’s hair.

He wanted that so much, Iwaizumi letting go, moaning against his lips and grinding down for more, for what Oikawa could do to him.

He wanted it so much that his hands moved by themselves, finding their way to Iwaizumi’s hips and forcing him down, a swift movement that brought their hips together in a drawn out contact that made them gasp together, only a breath from each other.

Oikawa had his eyes closed, and he bit his lip once again to keep himself from moaning, just because he thought and feared that everything would be over once he disrupted this little fantasy. But instead of that, Iwaizumi cradled his face in his hands, touching Oikawa’s lips with his thumb, staring into his eyes and lowering himself slower, letting Oikawa’s hands guide him.

“Hajime,” he whispered and the look on Iwaizumi’s eyes, a longing so deep, made him sigh and grind up against him. “Hajime.”

Iwaizumi leaned down, gasping, and their lips graced slightly, so warm and soft and bright, and Oikawa was going to feel Iwaizumi’s lips against his, was going to kiss the love of his life in his living room, comfortable, lovable and easy as any other time.

He was going to kiss the love of his life, when Iwaizumi suddenly startled, almost as if he had woken up from a dream where he was falling, and drew away, leaving Oikawa trying to chase after him, but stopping after he saw Iwaizumi’s face. His eyes were wide, with an emotion that Oikawa had never seen in them, his hand was over his mouth, the mouth Oikawa had almost kissed and he was red down to his neck.

“We should clean up,” he said, coughing and getting away from Oikawa, leaving his hands to fall back to the sofa, to slip from his strong hips as if nothing had ever happened.

“Yeah, clean up,” Oikawa murmured, hearing Iwaizumi walk into the kitchen.

He put his head in his hands and willed his heart to stop making feel sick.

He suddenly felt extremely tired.

 

 

**◊ ◊ ◊**

 

 

If Oikawa thought that sleepless nights because of volleyball matches were horrible, then this was his worst nightmare. He had been up for two days, thinking about Iwaizumi’s lips, about the wiliness of his hips that suddenly turned into rejection. He hadn’t had one wink of sleep and, no matter how much make up he put on, he couldn’t hide it.

And Iwaizumi noticed, of course he noticed. But he didn’t say a word, just frowned more than usual and looked at Oikawa worriedly when he thought he wasn’t looking and what could Oikawa do about that? They had been trying to act normally, but the tension and the stutters made it difficult for their banter to seem normal. Oikawa was more pensive, Iwaizumi seemed softer and when their skins managed to brush they both jumped as if they had been electrocuted. It was hell, and everything Iwaizumi had tried to avoid when he decided to swallow his want and to draw away from Oikawa that afternoon.

Iwaizumi had almost kissed his childhood friend, had grinded against his hips and had plastered himself all over Oikawa’s body, and Oikawa had chased his lips willingly, had squeezed his hips and made him move as he wanted with a look that had made Iwaizumi’s body warm up. He had almost let go, had almost thrown himself at Oikawa’s sweet lips, but a thought, sharp like a knife had made its way to his mind, _what if it’s just the heat of the moment?_

_What if he lost the best thing in his life just because of the heat of the moment?_

This situation was all that he had been trying to avoid, but now that they were there, had been like this for almost four days now, he wondered I he shouldn’t just throw himself at Oikawa and enjoy the moment as long as it lasted. Maybe after that they could back to normal, maybe they could build they relationship once again, learn to be with each other again.

Iwaizumi was making up excuses, he knew, and his relationship with Oikawa would probably never be the same again, but even if he didn’t do anything they would be stuck like that.

And so, with the memory of Oikawa’s half-lidded and heavy eyes and his gasps, he asked to come to his house once again.

“You have to finish that essay, don’t you?” he asked, not looking at Oikawa, just feeling him walk steadily beside him.

“Yeah,” Oikawa said lowly and the lack of an ‘Iwa-chan’ struck Iwaizumi a little hard.

_Make a draft? You can correct it._

_I can’t correct it if goes wrong._

Now that he was there he didn’t have the luxury to not keep going forward, with or without a draft.

 

 

**◊ ◊ ◊**

 

 

Iwaizumi’s house was silent, something incredibly unusual on a week day, but he was grateful for it. He didn’t need his mother going around the house when he finally fucked up his relationship with Oikawa.

He felt a sting in his chest, painful and tight, at the prospect of losing all those evenings together, all those moments that had shaped them to be how they were now. Maybe he wouldn’t lose Oikawa, but he would lose their relationship as it was in that moment.

Iwaizumi sighed, taking off his shoes and watching Oikawa from the corner of his eyes. He seemed nervous, stiff all over, and he had a little smile on his face, as if he was trying to practice to get that fake smile that Iwaizumi hated so much perfectly delivered.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked, trying to not be weird about it, but probably failing miserably.

“Just water,” Oikawa replied, finally getting out of his shoes and going out the stairs that lead to Iwaizumi’s room.

The bottle was cold against his skin when he took it and he cursed under his breath at the contact. He thought about putting it on his forehead as he made his way upstairs, just to calm his racing thoughts, but decided not to when he saw Oikawa sitting on the floor, with his back on Iwaizumi’s bed and with the table where they used to do homework in front of him.

He fitted so well in Iwaizumi’s room, sitting there, but his careful drawn expression was something that Iwaizumi had never seen Oikawa wear in his room. He sighed and entered the room with his heart clenched. He closed the door, just in case, and handed the bottle to Oikawa. Their hands didn’t touch, but the closeness sent a lighting of nervousness down Iwaizumi’s belly.

He watched Oikawa take a ship of the bottle greedily, gulping down the water and breathing soundly when he finished. He watched Oikawa put the almost empty bottle on the table and thought it was time. God, it was time.

“Oikawa, I—I have to tell you something.”

Oikawa looked up, and the sudden brightness in his eyes that contrasted with the tiredness on his face made Iwaizumi’s heart clench painfully. Maybe, just maybe, it would be all right.

He felt his knees tremble, his heart beating so wildly that he felt the sound reverberate through his whole body. He was breathless, had been breathless before while playing volleyball, while running, but this didn’t even come near to that feeling. He felt like he would never breathe again with the weight inside of his chest, felt like the trembling of his limbs would never stop. He opened his mouth, but only a pathetic little sound came out of it.

“Iwa-chan?” it was a low and deep sound, and in the partial darkness of the room, with the setting sun illuminating just paths of it, Iwaizumi thought that he might just melt.

He growled, scratching his neck with his hand and looking away from Oikawa. How could he say it? How could he even convey the feelings he had for his best friend? Feelings that were both wild and comfortable, familiar and strange at the same time. They were made of so many contrasts, like the sea was made of too many different currents, that Iwaizumi felt dizzy with them. But the dizziness and all of his fear always stopped when he thought of Oikawa’s genuine smiles, of the time he allowed himself to be truly happy.

He wanted to make Oikawa happy every day of his life, to help him lessen the burden on his shoulders. He wanted so much and he was so tired of hiding it.

Iwaizumi didn’t know how to get his mouth to open and say the words he desperately wanted Oikawa to hear, so he decided to use the vessel in which he had poured everything he was since he learnt how to create beautiful things. Poetry was like an old friend, familiar, warm, and so, when Hajime walked to his desk to retrieve one of his favourite poems, he felt some kind of calmness seep through his nerves.

He knelt beside Oikawa with the old paper in his hand and remembered the poem over and over again. It had been born after a restless night where he had dreamt about Oikawa. He had woken up with the fresh memory of Oikawa’s beautiful body being illuminated by the moon, all the lines in his body connecting, flowing, making him look untouchable and so far away that Iwaizumi had felt something cold inside his chest that had subdued the fire in his skin. 

He willed the reminding away as he handled Oikawa the paper and focused on the line of his lips and his long eye-lashes.

And if Iwaizumi had it bad, Oikawa was a living mess in that moment. He took the paper from Iwaizumi with shaking hands, their eyes glued to each other for a moment before Oikawa drew his gaze away to focus on the paper. The distraction was very welcome because, without it, with the dim lights and the familiarity of the room Oikawa might have just let his consciousness go and lean into the temptation of kissing Iwaizumi senseless. He inhaled, trying to calm himself, but considered it impossible after he read what was written on the paper, once, and then a million times.

 

_[As if you were](http://goo.gl/7fqvmU) _

_on fire_

_from within,_

_the moon lives_

_in the lining_

_of your skin._

 

Oikawa felt the tight emotions inside of his chest burst and combust, dying like gigantic stars, unwinding themselves so harshly and brutally that tears threatened to fall from his eyes, to coat his flushed cheeks and run down to his neck, following the blush. He wasn’t breathing, he knew, but he wasn’t thinking either. Or rather, he was thinking _too much._ A million thoughts passed through his mind and he didn’t seem to be able to grasp one and hold onto it. He was feeling so much that he was worried he might implode.

But when he felt Iwaizumi’s fingertips, so soft and tender, tracing the line of his jaw, he exhaled sharply, turning to look at him with eyes wide. Iwaizumi was looking at him with half-lidded eyes, a form of adoration that made him shiver in place and that, in return, made Iwaizumi’s caress more grounding, caressing Oikawa’s cheek with his hand.

Iwaizumi was looking at his mouth and Oikawa was losing years of his life with every second that passed with his heart in his mouth. He wanted to call his name, wanted to make sense of the chaos and of the mess that were his thoughts, wanted to hide under the blanket with Iwaizumi until they figured this all out, like they used to do.

He wanted Iwaizumi to kiss him with the same intensity with which he was looking at Oikawa. 

“I can’t take it anymore,” Iwaizumi whispered, so close, too close, _too much._ “You are so beautiful I feel I can’t breathe and I want to kiss you so bad--fuck.”

He was aching and Oikawa was only looking at him with wide eyes, with those chocolate eyes that could drive him crazy.

“Hajime,” it was a caress, one that didn’t even graze Iwaizumi’s body, but that made him tremble nonetheless. Oikawa was smiling softly, with an expression of disbelief and the small smile that he always wore when Iwaizumi was being an idiot.  “Kiss me.”

He went easily, following the aching of his skin and just like that, as easy as breathing, his lips found Oikawa’s. It was a caress at first, something timid and unsure, like a flower blossoming carefully under the rays of the sun. They breathed out and breathed in the other’s breath and, like a drug, they sought it out once, twice, three times more until Iwaizumi dared to card his fingers through Oikawa’s hair and pulled him in, making them both moan.

Oikawa’s skin was tingling when he fisted his hand on Iwaizumi’s chest, holding there tightly as Iwaizumi worked his mouth open with caress after caress, with the wetness of Iwaizumi’s tongue making him gasp. He relaxed his hand and discovered the deliciousness of Iwaizumi’s broad chest and his squared shoulders, and, with the awe of someone who discovers that the world is on the palm of their hand, he tightened his grip on Iwaizumi, trailing his hands up until he winded them around his neck.

They broke away, just inches apart, and looked at the other’s eyes. They leaned on each other, forehead first, and sighed, still trembling from the adrenaline.

“I’ve been— “Iwaizumi said, licking his lips and swallowing his nervousness. “I’ve been wanting to do that since forever.”

He wanted to say more, so much more, but Oikawa’s hands on his hair, carding it and trying to get a hold of it made him tongue-tied. And that’s when he noticed Oikawa’s eyes shining with tears. He tried to suppress them, and was almost successful until he talked and his voice cracked.

“I thought I would never be able to touch like this,” Oikawa said and Iwaizumi closed his eyes and felt the relief washing through his body, cleaning him of all those horrible thoughts he had thought would happen. “I was so afraid.”

“We are idiots,” Iwaizumi smiled, chuckling when he saw the tears adorning the blush on Oikawa’s cheek. “Don’t cry, love.”

“Love?”

“Indulge me,” Iwaizumi said, blushing and looking away from Oikawa’s wide eyes.

“I would indulge you every day of your life if you would let me.”

And what was air so suddenly? Why did Iwaizumi have to make the effort to take a breath when he felt those words could fuel him to fly into the next galaxy? What was air, he asked himself, looking at Oikawa’s expression and curling his toes at the longing he saw there. Why did he need it when he just needed Oikawa by his side.

“I would let you do anything you wanted with me,” he said mindlessly, reaching out to pull Oikawa closer, to brush their mouths together, to feel the weight of Oikawa’s hands on his hips pulling him towards him.

“Then come here,” his eyes sparkled and Iwaizumi swallowed, closing his eyes and obeying.

He climbed on Oikawa’s lap, and the memory of the evening on the couch made him suck in a breath. He settled in, feeling warm, trying not to move his hips to feel Oikawa’s thighs beneath him.

“You could tell me what else you would let me do,” he was smiling, looking up at Iwaizumi and letting his lips dangerously close to Iwaizumi’s chin.

“Or you could put your pretty mouth on mine and shut up.”

Oikawa didn’t need to be told twice and soon Iwaizumi had warm lips against his, coaching them open sweetly. He lost track of time, focused as he was on the way Oikawa moaned against him when Iwaizumi moved his hips. He felt Oikawa’s hands on his lower back, felt the trip they made lower while holding his breath, only to gasp it all out when Oikawa dipped down to the curve of his neck and planted an open-mouthed kiss there.

“Oikawa, I— “

“How long,” Oikawa interrupted him, said it against his neck, leaving a trail of kisses and losing himself in Iwaizumi’s scent.   

“I don’t know.”

His voice was merely a whisper, something fragile that shook with Iwaizumi’s desire. He tried to stop the noises that threatened to spill from his mouth, but Oikawa was making it hard for him. He bit his lip and let out a startled sound when Oikawa’s hips thrust up and he licked a stripe up Iwaizumi’s neck.

“Hajime,” Oikawa breathed out and Iwaizumi couldn’t suppress the shivers any longer.

“I don’t know, I really don’t know, maybe forever.”

Maybe it was when Oikawa smiled brightly after tossing perfectly for the first time. Maybe it was when he bought rattlesnakes and put them on Iwaizumi’s key so he could always find him in the mess that was his bag. Maybe it was when Oikawa looked at him like Iwaizumi hung the stars in the sky when he commented a sci-fi movie that Oikawa had recommended in the hopes that Iwaizumi would watch it. Maybe it was the time when Oikawa couldn’t even breath with the weight of his insecurities, of never being good enough, and held Iwaizumi’s hand harder than he had ever served a volleyball.

Iwaizumi had so many moments of Oikawa’s making feel thunderbolts in his stomach and riots inside of his chest that he couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t been nursing this star-crossed love from his tender childhood.

“I love you,” Oikawa said, reverently, holding Iwaizumi tightly, brushing their lips ardently and Iwaizumi felt his hands all over, burning and pulling at his heart to beat even faster. “God, I love you so much.”

“Fuck,” he said, sucking in a breath harshly at Oikawa’s words and at the way he was grinding against him. “Fuck, Tooru.”

The name felt foreign on his tongue, but so right at the same time. It felt like holding your breath for too long just to be able to breathe normally back again. He had wanted to call Oikawa by his name for so many years that doing it now seemed surreal.

“Tooru,” he said for good measure, licking his lips and moaning when Oikawa caught them with his.

“Keep moving,” Oikawa breathed out against his lips, lost in the feeling, in the curve of Iwaizumi’s spine, in the way his mouth opened up to spill a moan into Oikawa’s. “Iwa-chan.”

And that’s what that for them, small movements that turned into a full wrecking orgasm that left them both clutching at each other, mouths open panting and mind completely blank. They came back to themselves little by little, feeling contentment flowing through their veins like a drug, relaxing their bodies and making them breathe normally.

“I— “Oikawa said against Iwaizumi’s neck, feeling Iwaizumi’s legs settled against his hips and Iwaizumi’s hands digging into his shoulders. “I feel like I could die right now.”

“Don’t say that kind of thing, idiot,” Iwaizumi panted, moving his hands from Oikawa’s shoulders to his cheeks to guide him into a kiss.

Their mouths barely brushed against each other when they heard the front door opening and Iwaizumi’s mother calling out for him.

“Hajime! Come down and help me with the shopping!”

They both gasped, drawing away from each other and looking at the door like it might attack them. The soft footsteps stayed in the kitchen, thought, never coming up the stairs, so they relaxed a little.

“She has the worst timing,” Iwaizumi grumbled as he looked back at Oikawa.

He stopped with his mouth hanging open, suddenly feeling at a loss of words by how cute his childhood friend looked; bright eyes, hair in a disarray and a soft blush spreading through his cheeks and adorning his wet lips.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asked when the silence stretched and Iwaizumi groaned.

He kissed Oikawa then, forgetting about his mother and letting his mind go completely blank. He still couldn’t believe they were doing this, couldn’t believe that Oikawa felt the same way as him. Oikawa pulled him against him, drinking Iwaizumi’s air and trembling with every little kiss Hajime gifted him with.  

“Iwa-chan, we should— “Iwaizumi cut him off with a kiss and another, and then another, until Oikawa was groaning, pushing his hands up the expanse of Iwaizumi’s back until he could cradle the back of his neck.

“Your mother will get angry,” Oikawa whispered, trying to be the sensible one.

But everything went out of his mind when Iwaizumi murmured a simple ‘Tooru’. He tightened his grip on Iwaizumi and leaned up, mouth open and eyes closed to feel the sweetness again. Iwaizumi’s hands were on Oikawa’s hair, pulling and carding, and when they broke off, he leaned their forehead together.

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi said, eloquently, and Oikawa laughed, brushing their noses together.

“Hajime!” the booming voice of his mother broke the calmness between them, startling them as they tried to scramble away from each other when they heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Coming, coming!” Iwaizumi screamed and the footsteps stopped for a moment before going back the way they came from.

“At least say something if you have heard me,” his mother said and Iwaizumi sighed.

They looked at each other for a moment before they both rushed to stand, running to the bathroom to clean themselves up before coming down the stairs. They were silent and completely red, but it was comfortable, calm between them. Oikawa looked at Iwaizumi from the corner of his eyes, following the curve of his neck and the set of his shoulders, smiling giddily when he saw the blush spreading through the visible skin.

After finishing, they stood by the bedroom door, looking at each other and assessing if there were both presentable. Iwaizumi pushed his hands up into Oikawa’s hair, to card his fingers there for a moment and try to organize the mess that it was. When he was finished he gasped, Oikawa suddenly leaning down to steal a kiss from his lips before running and taking the stairs two at a time, just as he had done many times before. Iwaizumi put his weight on the frame of the door and felt tickles under his skin, not being able to suppress a smile at the fluttering feeling in his stomach.

He followed Oikawa and greeted his mother, trying to be as normal as possible as they put away the shopping. She didn’t comment on the fact that both of them seemed to be glowing.

 

 

**◊ ◊ ◊**

 

 

“So, if I wanted to read poetry where should I start?”

They were settled on Oikawa’s bed, with Oikawa’s back on the wall and Iwaizumi on his chest. Oikawa was watching the x-files while Iwaizumi curled his legs in as he leaned on Oikawa’s chest, writing down on his notebook.

“You… want to read… poetry?” the disbelieving tone in Iwaizumi’s voice made Oikawa snort.

He cradled Iwaizumi more tightly in his arms, setting his chin on Iwaizumi’s shoulder and turning his head to whispers in his ears, smirking when his low voice earned him a shiver from Iwaizumi.

“Well, I doubt that anyone can write better than you, but…”

“Shut up, idiot,” Iwaizumi said with his cheeks aflame, but Oikawa could hear the laughter in his voice.

“Well?”

“It’s more about finding the authors you like than anything. I could lend you my books?” he said, turning around a little to peer up at Oikawa.

“I’d like that.”

Oikawa couldn’t help but lean down and kiss Iwaizumi’s lips, slowly and sweetly, managing to steal a moan out of Iwaizumi when he bit down on his lower lip.

“I could kiss you all my life,” Iwaizumi whispered, his toes curling when he swallowed Oikawa’s laugh.

“There’s no rush,” Oikawa said, pulling him closer and feeling Iwaizumi relax against his frame.

He heard Oikawa sigh happily then, and smiled, feeling secured and loved in Oikawa’s room. In their room. He nuzzled against Oikawa’s neck, contentment running through his veins, and felt the way Oikawa enveloped him with his arms.

They had time.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you had like it!! If you want to chat with me my tumblr and my twitter are both warmybones.This story will most likely have a second part, I still want to write about this little boys.  
> The "Write hard and clear about what hurts" is from Ernest Hemingway and the poems have their respective links but just in case:  
> 1st poem: http://goo.gl/GiWMh1  
> 2nd poem: http://goo.gl/ixZlXh  
> 3rd poem: http://goo.gl/7fqvmU
> 
> Give love to this people for writing so amazingly!!


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